


Of clumsy angels and patient demons

by StrikeMyHeart



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU where angels are given a loaner body when they discorporate until they can get the original back, Aziraphale is a disaster, Aziraphale is accident prone, Crowley is patient, Fluff and Humor, M/M, No Smut, so clumsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 12:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20545919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikeMyHeart/pseuds/StrikeMyHeart
Summary: This sort of just popped into my head and I thought it was amusing so I thought I'd share. Aziriaphale runs from one disaster to another with the ever patient Crowley following behind to help when he can.





	Of clumsy angels and patient demons

**Author's Note:**

> First Good Omens fanfic.  
I hope I'll be inspired some more.

The outing had started out wonderfully on that bright and sunny winter's day. The pond in St. James's Park was frozen over and despite the severe unnatural cold, many people had made the trek out to skate. The small brass band was playing and a couple of enterprising hipsters had set up retro food stands and were briskly selling roasted chestnuts, popcorn and small pork pies. Another stand sold hot beverages. All in all, it was a rather festive Sunday afternoon in the park.

Crowley was cold. So cold. He did love to see Aziraphale enjoying himself though. The demon was bundled in gloves and mittens and several scarves. He even wore long johns; they were devilishly red after all. He didn't skate but was seated on a bench and keeping an eye on the angel.

Aziraphale barely seemed to feel the cold as he skated around the pond in his customary attire with a tartan scarf and a pair of kid gloves as his only concession to the cold. Several of the skaters zipped about with grace and aplomb. Aziraphale stuttered and blundered as he went faster and faster, his face alight with joy. 

Crowley suddenly sat up straighter, extending his neck from the scarves like a turtle emerging from his shell. His breath caught. "Come on Angel, be careful," was muttered repeatedly as Aziraphale jittered about on the far side of the pond. And then it happened. He fell and Crowley, from all the way over on the bench, could hear the thud as his angel's head hit the ice. No one but Crowley noticed the slight mist that was a discorporated angel rising up to Heaven. No one except perhaps the small boy staring up into the sky, finger jammed firmly up his nose. Children could be so dammed perceptive sometimes. The demon put thoughts of roasted chestnuts and meat pies in the boy's head and off he went to nag his nanny, forgetting all about mists and blood.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, shitshitshitshit!" he cursed as he manoeuvered himself across the ice and shoved the concerned skaters out of the way. "He's fine! He's fine! He'll be all right, just need to get him home." The skaters stared disbelievingly from the twitchy redhead to the spreading bloodstain on the ice. A quick demonic miracle and Azirphale's lifeless limbs began to move. The area around the angel and demon cleared quickly as people gasped and turned somewhat green.

Crowley lifted Aziraphale's limp, twitching body and practically ran all the way to the bookshop where the body was unceremoniously dumped on the couch. He only needed to move it out of sight of the humans while it quickly desintegrated. As nerve wracking as it was, Crowley rather enjoyed the scents of toasted marshmallow and melted chocolate that filled the air as the body turned to dust and disappeared entirely. Aziraphale's body hadn't always smelled like that of course. Those things hadn't been invented millennia ago. Back then it had been lemons and pomegranates.

The waiting varied. Sometimes the angel would show up in his loaner body the very next day and sometimes he had to wait a few days until admin would deign to outfit Aziriphale and then possibly several more days until he was summoned upwards to be given his reconstituted body. The body that humans associated with A.Z. Fell, book shop owner, and Crowley associated with the love of his long, long life. The angel always came back rather flustered by his treatment at the hands of petty bureaucracy. Only copious amounts of alcohol and the best cakes and sweets the demon could find wherever they were would restore Aziraphales usual serenity. And the company of his favourite demon, of course.

There had been the time that Aziraphale had taken it into his head to visit Pompeii the day that Vesuvius erupted. There was, apparently, a shop that sold the most scrumptious little "cakes" -pitted dates stuffed with nuts, sprinkled with salt and pepper and then dipped in honey and fried. He'd been negotiating a price for several dozen when the screams began. The angel had tripped on his robes and was engulfed in hot lava. Crowley didn't have to remove the body that time and Aziraphale had shown up the next day as an ancient, wizened, and very tetchy crone. Crowely had snorted wine out his nose and laughed until he gagged when he realized who the old lady tugging at his sleeve actually was.

Then there'd been the first balloon ascension ten years before the incident in the Bastille. Somehow the angel had persuaded Messrs. Montgolfier to let him go up too. He'd leaned too far out of the basket to wave at Crowley, had an attack of vertigo, and fell to the ground. Crowley had some work erasing the incident from the minds of spectators and participants alike. Aziraphale had come back as a 10 year old stable boy with a chronic case of snot nose and lice. He'd been in that body for 4 whole days and Crowley carried around a long stick that indicated the distance that Aziraphale had to keep from the demon until he got his real body back. Crowley shivered in disgusted remembrance.

The drowning in 1773 when Aziraphale tried to save some of the tea being dumped into Boston’s harbour, instead tripping over one of the docklines. He’d come back as a Quaker and was just a massive bastard for the 3 days he’d had to dress and speak plainly. Ethereal beings in loaner bodies mustn’t draw attention to themselves and ruffles and lace were not acceptable to Quakers, no.

The irate Italian lord who thought the angel was dallying with his wife. Ha! The Italian was brandishing a spado da lato and chasing the angel down a long corridor when, trapped, Aziraphale spun around and ran right onto the sword just as the Italian lunged forward with a thrust. He was showing off for a maidservant and fortunately they both became distracted enough that Crowley was able to get the body outside before anyone noticed anything strange. The angel had come back as a butler and rather enjoyed sampling the food and alcohol in one of the great houses. Crowley snorted, “Didn’t like it that one only lasted 24 hours, did you angel?”

And so, Crowley settled in to wait for the return of his favourite being. One week later, Crowley was accosting people in the street, ”Aziraphale, is that you?” in an increasingly panicky voice. Only the approach of a police officer brought him slightly back to reason. “It’s just taking longer, that’s all,” he muttered to himself as he made his way to St. James's Park. He’d feed the ducks and then go back to the bookshop to wait theresome more.

They were a boisterous lot today and there was one particularly pushy duck who kept trying to snap at Crowlely's fingers as he tossed out the feed. Crowley had never seen that one before and although he was a rather handsome drake, his feathers seemed a bit scruffy. The demon was distracted for a little while until the feed ran out. 

Crowley turned his back on the ducks and settled on a bench, dangling the empty feed bag sadly between his knees. He didn't notice at first that the new duck had followed him. The drake stood directly in front of him and quacked loudly. "I'm sorry Mr. Drake, I don't have anything left." The duck quacked even louder and shook his head. He lengthened his neck and stood up proudly, slowly raising his wings. As Crowley stared in consternation, two more sets of wings appeared, one above and one below the orginal pair. And there, yes, there underneath the feathers on the duck's breast were several pairs of eyes. For a moment Crowley was speechless and then he lifted his sunglasses and peered at the duck. "Aziraphale, is that you?" The drake actually huffed and began to beat his wings rapidly, quacking hysterically once more. 

"Ngk! Quiet, try not to draw any more attention to yourself!" 

Pulling off one of his scarves, the demon wrapped up the angel and miracled people not to notice as he stole a duck from the park and took it to the bookshop of one A. Z. Fell.


End file.
